Easy
by Unhobbity Hobbit
Summary: Sometimes, nothing seems easy. Preseries.


A/N: written for the prompt "easy" at snflashback. The boys are 21 and 25.

Easy

Who knew telling the truth could be so hard? Dean drove furiously back to his motel room. He didn't even know why he'd got in the car in the first place, it wasn't like he had anywhere to be, not now. But driving furiously was better than sitting in a motel room stewing. Better for him anyway, maybe not for other road users.

But driving was tiring and Dean was tired enough with this anger boiling inside him that he didn't know what to do with. Life was so unfair sometimes it still surprised Dean. Served him right for expecting something good to happen to him, he supposed. For getting his hopes up like a completely lovesick fool._ Of_ _course_ it wasn't going to go the way he planned, nothing ever did.

He pulled into the motel parking lot and sat in the car trying to calm his boiling rage to at least a simmer. Nope, not happening. Where the hell was an unruly spirit when you needed it? He could sure do with shooting some bastard back to hell. It would serve it right for existing.

Complete bastards, it wasn't bad enough that they killed and maimed people, oh no, they managed to utterly ruin things by just _existing_. And what was he supposed to do? Go 'oh yeah, sorry, you're right, they don't exist, silly me!'? Hell no he was not going to do that, he couldn't abandon his dad like that, couldn't abandon God knew how many innocent people like that. He couldn't ignore things like that.

She'd wanted to _spend more time together._ Yeah, well, good for her, but Dean would hardly be in the mood for anything when he knew there was a hellhound in the next state ripping people to shreds. Lies hadn't worked, and the truth _really_ hadn't worked. What the hell was he supposed to do? Why did everything have to be so God damn hard?

Dean slammed both the car door and the motel room door hard and then just stood in the room because what now? He'd left in such a mess the previous night that he hadn't even packed anything. He didn't _want_ to pack anything now. He didn't really know what he _did_ want, though. Part of him wanted to go back and make her change her mind, show her what was out there but what a great conversation that would be. 'See? I told you there were monsters from your worst nightmares waiting to rip your throat out any chance they get!' yeah, brilliant, she'd love him for that. Part of him wanted to call Dad and ask if they could do the next hunt together because his world was cracking apart around him and he wanted to be with the only person he had left, except that just no. His mind flickered over Sam briefly but that was laughable.

Part of him wanted to curl up in a ball and wait until everything bad just went away. Oh yeah, like that would ever happen. Instead he collapsed onto the bed, completely drained. He'd been constantly angry for a full twenty-three hours now and awake for all of them. He was tired like you wouldn't believe, in body and soul, but still too angry to just stop.

His phone buzzing in his pocket woke him out of the angry stupor he'd fallen into, repeating scenes over and over in his head, looking at how it could have gone better or worse or just different. Dwelling on things like he didn't usually let himself. He groaned and pulled out his phone and looked at it. Sam was calling, or so it said. Why the hell would Sam be calling? He hadn't even bothered to return Dean's phone calls. If it was to brag about something in his new and perfect life Dean so did not want to hear about it. Sam could be the next contender for president right now and Dean just wouldn't care.

Still, it wasn't like Sam to call. He could be in trouble. Dean couldn't think of any other real reason Sam would call. Something had happened to Sam, Sam was in danger. He flipped the phone open.

"Sam? Hello?" There was no answer, just what sounded like rustling material. Was something so wrong that Sam couldn't talk? "Sammy! Talk to me!" he called into the phone, sitting up and listening hard. He could hear voices, muffled, people talking. Were they holding Sam somewhere? Cults could do some crazy-ass things to people if they got a hold of them. Dean just had to listen, get some clues as to what was going on, perhaps try to hear Sam, hear his breathing, make sure he was, well, alive.

Then he heard the voice of a woman that he could just about make out.

"Shut up, Sam!" she said playfully. Dean's worry dissipated into the air, leaving in its place a deep, dark hole. Of course, that sounded about right; the only reason Sam would call him was because he forgot to lock the keypad of his phone. It wouldn't have been nice to, you know, phone Dean just so he felt a little bit wanted or needed would it? No, he can let his pocket do all the phoning so Dean can sit in his dingy motel room and listen to Sam's clothing rustle. Fan-fucking-tastic, Dean couldn't think of a better way to spend his time.

Just as Dean was going to shut the phone and resign himself to a night of tossing and turning and probably not much sleep at all, he heard something he hadn't heard in far too many years. Sam laughed long and loud, Dean could picture him with his head thrown back, happiness clear on his face. It was his typical drunk laugh. Something inside Dean untwisted and for the moment all his anger melted away.

Sam was happy. Sam was laughing, in just the way he hardly ever had before he left. Dean smiled and lied down, balancing the phone on the side of his head so he could just lie there and listen to the sounds of Sam's new life. This was right, he could do this. This was... easy. This was a little slice of ease in a world of hardness.

Dean was woken from his doze by the jarring sound of loud beeping in his ear and then a voice, no longer muffled by Sam's pocket.

"Dude, your phone doesn't work." Dean brought a hand up to steady the phone, ready to snap it shut if there was any hint of Sam picking it up and talking to him.

"What?" came Sam's far off voice, "Give it here." There was some fumbling and then a few more beeps. Sam and his freaking huge brain, defeated by a cell phone. "If you've done something to my phone..." Sam left the threat hanging, sounding so much like Dad, Dean could barely stifle his chuckle.

"Sam, hand it over," said the woman he'd heard earlier.

"What? No!" said Sam's much nearer voice.

"You couldn't handle a calculator in your condition, give me the phone." Apparently Sam did because the next time she spoke the woman was much closer. "You've called someone," she said, Dean readied himself to shut the phone but was still desperate for a little more, a bigger taste of Sammy's life.

"I've what?" Sam's voice was far away again.

"You've called, uh... Dean?" and that was Dean's cue to hang up. He snapped the phone shut and breathed deeply. Then he rolled over and went to sleep.

* * *

"Dean? No way, give it back, I want to speak to him." Sam held his hand out for the phone but Jess didn't hand it over. She looked back down at the screen.

"No, he's hung up." The droop of Sam's mouth when he heard the news was almost comical.

"Aww, but I want to speak to Dean!" He stomped his foot like and annoyed toddler. An annoyed, six foot four toddler. Weird image.

"Then you can call him back when you're slightly less shitfaced, okay?" Sam shook his head.

"No, I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It'd be too hard, I just can't." Jess rolled her eyes. Sam's brain would probably forever remain a mystery to her and his relationship with his family even more so.

"Right then. Let's get you to bed. You going to get home all right, Zack?" Zack nodded and gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up. "All right then, see you tomorrow!"

"Bye, Zack!" shouted Sam as Zack weaved his way off. Jess held Sam around the waist and led him off towards their apartment. More for stability than anything, because if Sam fell over there wasn't really going to be anything Jess could do about it. She certainly couldn't carry him up all those stairs.

Before long Sam was sound asleep in bed, still wearing his clothes and on top of the covers. Jess got changed and slipped into bed beside him. Whatever it was that made it hard for Sam to talk to his brother, she was just glad Sam didn't have the same trouble with her.

The End.

Thank you for reading!


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